Halfway Through
by altairattorney
Summary: [1x02 spoilers] Because that's all her being there is about. That is just what she is now, in the reality of their world. She is a memory.


**Halfway Through**

Hers is the death of the privileged, Mia guesses. She is not yet sure how she feels about it.

For the vast majority, moving on is mandatory. Not many happen to be torn back to life, pulled into light and flesh by the strings of Kurain. Those who die in the business, those like her, are fewer still.

Her passing proved being born a Fey does not help that much.

The very moment her head bent on her chest, Mia knew her training could never prepare her for the other side. It is a curious feeling, being more of a visitor than a lost loved one. She is split between two opposite conditions – the one she inhabits, the one she left behind.

She never stops listening, in any case. That's the least she can do. She waits for their souls to rest, blissfully free from distress signals, to cut herself a lonely space in the eternity of death.

She couldn't reflect on the matter otherwise. They are her last anchor – for them, she remains always.

The greatest advantage of the afterlife is having no deadlines. No haste in her choices, no rough miscalculations. She brought along a fair tangle of doubts – she might as well take it slow, now that she can.

She curls up in a spiral, centered on the memory of their faces.

All in all, this fate is one she does not mind. She exists in a convenient space between being there and gone. The shore every soul must land on, sooner or later, is vast enough for everything – she could fit in there seamlessly, with her burden of rage, love, lacerating regret. It is a breath of relief, serene and melancholic. Much better than the place she left, if it counts for anything.

No, the tricky part is not acceptance at all. It is returning to them that makes it difficult. The deep crack between their perspectives has no way to be explained – to be overcome, even less so.

It is so simple. She is dead. But the person they call to, although her in every way, is alive.

The difference is one they couldn't possibly know. Mia does not blame them. The truth is, the dead and their memory are parted by an ocean. And every time she returns, quickly adapting to the wavelength of her past, the certainty grows stronger.

Where she must start over, they have walked on for miles. She is forced to watch them grow farther and older with every step, treading the natural path that leads living creatures to improvement. They move on in frantic changes, in lines of events that break and twist and mingle – they are heartbeat and gaze, they are frantic breath.

They are things she can no longer be.

She gives the best of her intellect. It consoles her, at least, to see it helps. On the other hand, the body that contains her remains foreign and detached. Despite the sound of her voice, the angle of worry on her mouth is a pale impression; when she hold her sister again for the first time, it is not through her arms that Mia embraces her, and the tight knot never touches her throat.

Even in the times she almost forgets she isn't actually there, she feeds on fading memories of what being alive meant.

Because that's all her being there is about. That is just what she is now, in the reality of their world. She is a memory.

They are the ones who can smile and cry, who will grow better in the years to come. Her share of the same experiences was spent long ago. Together as they may be, in the same place and time, Mia cannot count. She is a compromise.

Judging from how brilliant they became, stronger with their wounds and their mutual love, she won't be able to catch up for long.

Such is life, and subsequently death. Mia recognizes the fairness in their truth. If they can only move on, so must she. The living and the dead walk separate ways – but to go back, to once more get what one has lost, is an opportunity that belongs to neither.

She can guide them, in her own way. She can help. However, if she ponders the facts for what they are, her only privilege is being able to watch them walk away.

Like it or not, she must stay content with what she has left. To walk with them is a chance that died with her.

A slight touch of sadness repeats it, for the thousandth time.

If she had really wanted that instead, she would have been more careful.


End file.
